


A Wishful Dream

by imthepunchlord



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Damn, F/M, Inside Out Au, It's going to hurt, i'm so mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imthepunchlord/pseuds/imthepunchlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing hurts worse than not being able to help the one you love. Inside Out AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wishful Dream

_Claire._

She was his first thought of consciousness.

The first thing he knew when he woke. She had the softest pink hair in the world, and he knew it ran like silk under his fingertips. That she liked keeping it long, feeling it tickle against her bare neck and shoulders. That when she was alone, bored, or just musing, she liked to play with it, braid, and twist it into some sort of style just for her to enjoy for a few moments before she untangled it and let fall straight over her shoulders again before anyone saw it.

Her eyes were a hypnotic teal that held the ocean in them. They were no set color, they shifted with her emotions. They were grey when she was sad, flared green when she was mad, and fluttered blue when she was happy and content. Even if she wasn't so expressive, her eyes were, and they told so many things.

And he could just list on all the things he knew.

Her skin was sun kissed and naturally warm.

She smelled of peaches and sea salt.

She loved chocobos and dreamed of riding one someday.

She had a huge sweet tooth and could be bribed with cookies.

She loved being near and in the water, and could hold her breath for a solid minute.

She loved running, and just being on the move.

She loved music and played the ukulele for her mom and sister.

She had a temper, and got into a lot of fights.

She loved to storm watch, especially when lightning flashed.

She loved her family, would let Serah hold her hands for hours, and loved being held by her mother.

There were so many things he could list and talk about.

For that was his purpose.

He was born to love her, her very being, her everything. She was the first thing he knew when he was born; she would be the last thing on his mind when he finally faded away. He would always love her unconditionally; it was what he was made to do. To make her happy. To be loved. To never abandon her.

It was what he was made to do.

So it came as a nervous surprise when he walked out of a giant sea shell like building that he didn't promise the world he stepped into that he would die for Claire.

To the nervous mind workers staring up at him, he said, "I want to live for her."

.

.

.

* * *

The workers say he's a mistake.

That he's wrong.

He was much too dark for her colorful world, that his eyes were red and far too frightening, and he should want to die for her, to secure that she would live on to happiness. They talked about walking him down the long dock that stretched over the crystal ocean, to push him in and let him disappear.

"Maybe he can be used for a few nightmares?" one of the mind workers suggested. "He's got a bit of a scary look to him."

"I'll never scare her," he snaps, narrowing his eyes.

One jumps away, while the other narrows his eyes up at him.

"You're expendable Number XIII," one of the mind workers told him, waving a pen at him. He pointed it out towards the somewhat empty city. In the distance he can see other dark haired boys, looking similar to him, though most had tamer hair than him, and their eyes were blue. Some black. "There are plenty of perfect boyfriends for Claire. You won't be missed. Now you can either be of use, or go into the ocean."

"He could be saved till she's older," another mind worker voices, looking him up and down. "She might want a tall, dark, and intimidating boy in her life sometime."

As the mind workers turned and started to discuss just what they could do with such a mistake that wouldn't even die for Claire, Number XIII turned and walked off, exploring the layout of Claire's mind. When he wandered close to one of the handful of dream boys, he stopped to talk to him.

"I would die for her!" he instantly swore, beaming at Number XIII, his blue eyes shining.

"That's good," he said, offering a small smile. "I want to listen to her play the ukulele. I know she's good… how many songs do you think she knows?"

"But dying for her is more important!"

Number XIII left the beaming clone.

What good was dying for her if he couldn't live to see her happy?

Wasn't their purpose to secure that she'd be happy?

How could they know that in death?

.

.

.

* * *

Odin was scary.

Her imaginary friend since she was three, he's been lingering around the edge of her mind since she stopped seeing her father. Number XIII didn't know the details, but he knew it still hurt Claire very much.

And the very curious dream boy couldn't help but walk up to the large, intimidating knight, asking him about it.

Cold green eyes stared down at him, and the knight raised a golden brow down at him.

"Aren't you curious," the knight comments instead.

"I am," Number XIII agreed. That's why he asked.

"No," he said, the towering knight crouching and looking him over, like there was something wrong with him. Number XIII reasoned it was because he was a mistake. That he didn't come out wrong. He still didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"You're conscious," the knight noted.

Number XIII was confused. "I'm always—"

"You're different from the others. You're aware."

He supposed so… was that not good?

"Very curious," Odin murmurs on. Not elaborating, the large white knight walks past him, heading towards the theater where he will appear in Claire's dreams, the knight and father she always wanted. Number XIII followed, wanting to be her hero as well, only to be stopped by a mind worker.

"She wants Odin as her hero," they said, "not a red eyed mistake."

.

.

.

* * *

He found her long term memory.

It was in a building that looked like an aquarium. Even had fish swimming freely in the open air, dead eyed and colorful. They looked brilliant against the colorful orbs of memories that decorated the halls. There were so many colors of yellow, blue, red, green, and purple. But he noted that most were blue.

Sadness was her lead emotion.

It was here that Number XIII finally saw Claire.

Now, he knew what she looked like, he knew before he even stepped out of the giant sea shell and was born into her world.

But it was aweing to pick up the yellow memory, finally seeing her for the very first time. She was cute, beautiful, young, and so small. She looked thirteen, and was building a sand castle with Serah. There was light in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She laughed when Serah's tower toppled over, and helped her rebuild it.

He swiped two fingers over the orb, rewatching it. Just to hear her laugh as close to physical as he could, to have his breathe ripped away out from him as she smiled.

He knew these details.

They were as present as his hair.

As defined as his red eyes.

He knew her smile, her laugh, her looks; but it was like seeing that first star in an empty night sky.

.

.

.

* * *

Number XIII starting hanging out in long term all the time now; none of the mind workers came to drag him out.

Days went by as Number XIII poured through her memories.

It was like learning a whole new topic. Everything he found was new. Some he knew before were expanded on.

She could play fifteen songs on the ukulele.

Eclairs were her favorite treat.

And there was a little lightning necklace that she wanted.

And a pair of arm bands that she thought looked cool.

She wondered where her father was.

Was sad that she could barely remember his features.

She hated her hair color.

And wanted to ride a chocobo down the beach.

These little series of trinkets of information, he knew these things; but never in this depth. Gripping the current orb he held, Number XIII bit his lip hard in panicked frustration.

"What's wrong?"

He looked to Odin, seeing the knight tower over him. Like him, Odin held his own orb, it was green, and Number XIII could see the traces of her school day in it.

"I don't love Claire," he uttered shakily, his body trembling. He was horrible, he was a mistake. How could he say that he loved her, if he didn't know these things. That he only knew the surface of her. He didn't know that she bit her lip when concentrating, that she fisted her hands and shook when she was mad. He didn't truly know her favorite treat. He didn't know how many songs she could actually play. How could he swear that he loved her if he was only brushing on the surface of her?

And she wasn't happy anymore.

It was uncommon to see a yellow orb in the freshest memories.

It was every other color except yellow.

And red was becoming a little more prominent.

And so was purple.

And so was blue.

She was angry. She was getting scared. And she was getting sad.

She didn't know what to do.

He didn't know what to do.

Even if he was dying too, there was no way he can reach out and touch her. No way he can comfort her. No way to pull her into his arms and hide her away from all this sorrow that's starting to pile in her life.

Did he even have that right too?

He swiped his fingers over the purple orb, torturing himself as he rewatched the horrifying scene of her mother collapsing before her and Serah. It was supposed to be a walk on the beach. It was supposed to be happy.

The whole scene was ugly in purple.

And he was horrible.

There was nothing he could do but clutch that orb and cry.

What good was he if he couldn't help her?

What good was he if he loved her but didn't really know her?

_What good was he?!_

"You do."

He started, looking up at Odin with his watering red eyes.

"You love her," Odin elaborated.

When he opened his mouth to argue, Odin cut him off by jerking his head down to the orb his lap. "That's how I know," the knight continued. "You don't see the other dream boys here, do you? You're not following the norm, expressing your desire to 'die' for her. What do you want for her?"

His mouth was dry, and it was hard swallow. He forced the words out, shaky. "I want her happy."

He jumped when he heard a ding of a new memory arriving, bouncing off another when it arrived. It was a mix of purple and blue and red. He could faintly see Claire in it from where he sat on the floor, talking to a man in a large white cloak, his expression grim. Not bothering to look at it, he grabbed it, clutching the two orbs in his arms and pulling them close in the tightest embrace he could give.

.

.

.

* * *

He was finally used for his first dream sequence with Claire.

It was simple, but it was needed.

It was just a dream of being held, of feeling another's warm wrapped around her, easing the shivers from her body.

She wouldn't remember him, wouldn't even see him.

He was just to lay behind her and hold her.

It was the closest he could ever be with her.

She was a ghost here in her own mind, barely aware of the dream crew scuttling around her, the faint lull of the waves in the distance. She didn't even respond when he laid down behind her, shyly wrapping his arms around her.

He couldn't feel her. Couldn't touch her. Couldn't smell her.

And she couldn't feel him at all. Just the ghost of his presence, warmth, and all the comfort he wanted to pour into her being.

Ignoring the dream crew, he closed his eyes and imagined. Imagined soft skin beneath his fingers, the warmth of her curled up body, the tickle of her hair, and her scent. She smelled saltier than usual.

When the dawn drew near and she woke, just like that she was gone.

Even if he didn't feel any warmth from her, he felt cold when it was over.

.

.

.

* * *

Mind workers started gathering dream boys up the week the ocean waves started to get harsh.

It was the week when her mother was hospitalized, and Claire and Serah camped out in the hospital more times than the nurses would like.

To beaming Number I, a mind work told him to walk the dock.

"I would die for Claire!" he swore, racing off to the dock and jumping into the water, as giddy as a child.

He never came back up.

Number XIII wondered if the smile ever left his face.

Next week II and III were ordered to go off the dock.

And mind workers carried some grey and near black memories out. Number XIII couldn't see them clearly, but he could very faintly see little Claire with a man, sharing giggles and smiles with him. They were tossed into the ocean, after Number II and III.

"What's going on?" he asked the workers.

"Stock day," they answered. "We're getting rid of what Lightning doesn't need anymore."

"Lightning?"

"She doesn't want to be Claire anymore," the mind worker explained with a sigh, "Lightning doesn't need what Claire wanted." The mind worker left, looking for more old memories to throw into the ocean.

Number XIII felt numb, gaping after the mind worker.

Lightning?

What happened to his Claire?

He raced to the aquarium, finding Odin grimly holding the latest memory. It was a mix of colors: blue, purple, and red.

Without breathing a word, the large knight handed it to him and left him alone in the hall. The fish darted around the night. He's been absently noting that they've been slowing down these days.

Shaking, Number XIII watched the memory over and over again.

The doctor's words were dull and muffled in his ears, but they were clear.

Evangaline Farron lay still on the bed, looking like she was sleeping.

But Serah was laying over her, her body heaving as she cried. Number XIII couldn't hear her, could only watch as she clutched and wailed at the body beneath her.

Claire was very still.

He could barely see her shaking, could see the horror and raw agony on her face.

Number XIII never hated being just a dream more than ever in his short life.

Just seeing the pain on her face just ripped him to shreds; it left him gasping, collapsing to the floor as he watched the memory, feeling like claws were tearing at his heart. "Claire," he breathed, a choke bubbling out.

She whipped around and ran.

She didn't stop when the doctor shouted after her, didn't stop when she fled outside into the storm.

She just kept running and running.

Number XIII swore he could feel the rain with her. Feel the choking feel encasing her. The monster whispering cruel facts in her ear.

Smash it, break it, get rid of it, toss it into the ocean.

Just anything to erase this.

To erase this pain she was feeling.

"Claire," he choked, bringing the orb to his chest and clutching it tight. She collapsed on the sand, gasping as water rolled down her form and lightning flashed in the sky.

Almost like she was whispering to him, he heard the quiet promise.

" _I'm Lightning now."_

For the first time in his short life, Number XIII cried.

.

.

.

* * *

There were only three dream boys left in her mind.

Nubmer XIII was one of them.

For the first time, a mind worker looked for him in the aquarium of memories. They scoffed at the mess he made, clutching the memory of her mother's death and the "birth" of Lightning. He had a few other memories set around him, ignoring them as they replayed.

He simply sat around, hugging them and just feeling them against him while he spaced out, staring at the floor.

He could pretend that he was holding her. Listening to her whisper broken whimpers in his ear while she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He wanted to bury his face in her hair. Wanted to physically share this sorrow and cry with her.

Evangaline was an amazing mother.

Loving and caring for these girls while their father was gone.

Teaching her how to play the ukulele, building sand castles with her, making Claire pretty with her make up the one day she wanted to be pretty.

He wanted to whisper in her ear how much her mother loved her.

"Number XIII."

He looked up, finally noticing the impatient and tired mind worker.

"What," he growled out, his voice thick and wary. He couldn't remember ever being so tired. Ever so weak.

"It's time to walk the dock. Number XIV and Number XV have already gone."

Number XIII stiffened, his red eyes widened as he stared at the worker.

"What?"

"It's time to walk the dock," the mind worker said slowly. "Clai—Lightning," the worker corrected, "has given up on love. Dream boys aren't needed any more. You have no reason to exist."

"But she—"

"Doesn't want you."

The memory felt heavy in his lap.

She didn't want him.

She didn't want a dream boyfriend any more.

She didn't want him to make her happy anymore.

Didn't think that he could.

His purpose ended the day she decided it. And it was today apparently.

No.

She decided this for a while.

The day the ocean waves turned harsh.

His arms wound tighter around the memory as he curled around it. He pressed his forehead against it.

It was too hot against his skin.

"Come on Number XIII," the worker bid. "Let's go walk the dock."

"No."

The worker was surprised. "What was that?"

"No," he repeated, a little louder, a little clearer.

"She doesn't want you Number XIII!" the mind worker stressed.

"I don't care!" he snapped, turning his furious eyes to the worker. They jumped away, staring wildly into his red eyes.

"Number XIII," they uttered warily.

"I love her," he managed out, curling up once more, laying his cheek on the hot memory. He didn't care if it burned. He didn't care of Claire decided that she didn't need dream boys anymore. But his purpose wasn't done.

She needed to be happy.

His job was to make sure she was happy.

He would not leave her till she was.

He didn't care if she never knew about him.

If she subconsciously never wanted him.

If he could never do much for her.

He didn't care.

He wasn't going to leave her.

Abandon her.

He wasn't going to walk off that damn dock with that damn happy smile on his face, wishing the best for her as he lived through his purpose and "died" in that ocean.

He'd go only if she was happy, that he knew that she'd be alright.

He wasn't going to leave her.

Not now.

Not when she needed him most.

"Number XIII!" the mind worker snapped, stamping their foot.

"Let him stay."

The worker jumped, turning to look up to Odin. "But he's—" the worker babbled nervously. Only to go quiet as Odin continued to stare down at him.

"What harm would him staying here do?" the knight wondered.

The worker's mouth opened and closed, gaping like one of the fish swimming around. They were near frozen now. Grumbling under their breath, they stomped away, informing the others that all official dream boys were gone now.

The sea shell can go now.

Odin walked by him, plucking up the latest memory. It was bright red. She was fighting someone at school. "You're going to suffer," Odin warned. "It's going to hurt."

"I don't care," Number XIII swore.

In the distance, he could hear a boom, and feel the beach shudder as a building crumbled down.

When Number XIII finally slipped out of the aquarium, the sea shell he came out of was gone.

.

.

.

* * *

Odin wasn't wrong.

He did suffer.

Under the guise of "Lightning", Claire shifted. She wasn't as sweet, her temper got worse, and half the time she didn't seem to know what to do with herself. Memories had her stomping down the beach, sitting by windows to watch the storms; and most days she didn't talk to Serah.

The girl was wearing herself out and he wanted nothing more than to burst out of her head and sweep her into his arms.

If she wouldn't accept kisses from him, he'd rub her arms to ease the pain away, or he'd braid her hair like she used to. There was so much he wanted to do, but couldn't.

He could only settle for watching her through the orbs.

Watch her smile disappear.

Watch her get tired.

Watch her focus on just moving forward, not a thought of happiness set before her.

Survive.

That's the only thing Claie stayed locked on.

She's got to survive. She's got to move forward. She couldn't let the pains and ghosts of the past drag her down.

There were barely any memories of her father left.

And so bitter, she seemed resolute to erase any fond memory of a father.

And Odin went.

He spent one night with her, crouching down, talking with her ghost.

Number XIII hovered close, restraint by the dream crew to keep from going over, hugging her ghost, just to get some semblance of closeness, to finally offer that comfort he's been dying to give. She was older now. So much taller. She went to his chin if they stood side by side.

He wanted to kiss her forehead. Breathe in the sweet smell of peaches.

But this wasn't his dream to intrude upon.

Claire didn't want him.

This was Odin's.

This, Number XIII found out, was his last.

When dawn came and her ghost left her mind, Odin pulled him into the aquarium, to the deepest part where they kept some of her oldest memories; those that were still going strong and hopefully remembered for a long time.

With a rare smile, Odin showed him a few.

The times they played together, Claire dreaming that she was riding him down the beach. Sometimes he was a horse, sometimes a white chocobo.

He looked majestic as either.

They fought together in others, killing cruel gods together and saving her little sister Serah.

There was one she dreamed she was a queen and Odin was her loyal knight, guarding her, guiding her.

There were even memories of him just holding her while she cried into his chest, clutched his arm, asking about her father, pleading for him to stay and be her father instead if the other didn't love her.

Odin swore in each that he always will.

And he promised Number XIII that he always would.

"But you're leaving," Number XIII responds, scowling at him, hurt that the knight was going to walk the dock.

"I can only stay with her for so long," the knight reasoned. "We'll never stop loving each other," he reassured, "but she can't always cling to me, and I can't always shadow her."

Number XIII wanted to kick the mind worker that started to wander close. A glare he settled with had the little creature scuttling away.

"Be patient with them," Odin pleaded. "They're echoes of her."

"They piss me off."

"They're as fair as life can be."

Odin turned to him, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You should find yourself a name," the knight suggested. "Number XIII doesn't exist anymore. Be what you want to be."

"A name," he repeated. How does one find or get a name? He's always been the thirteenth dream boy ever made. He could be something else? Known as something else?

"Good luck," Odin chimes, breaking his thoughts. He stared at the old memories one last time before turning and walking away. Number XIII trailed after him, his insides twisting. He stopped at the edge of the wood, his shoes still on the sand. The giant knight walked on, ignoring the creaks of the dock or the jerk of the waves. He didn't look back as he stepped off and sunk below the surface.

Number XIII wondered if he sunk with a smile or a frown.

.

.

.

* * *

Very recently, Number XIII finds himself sitting on the edge of the dock, just staring down at the water. It hurt. Every day of watching over her, of not being able to help her, and waiting for something in her life to get better.

It hurt.

Her life was grounded.

She had a steady job as a soldier; she got along with her employers and comrades easily, and had a good home to live in.

She still didn't smile.

Things didn't get better with Serah.

The two hardly talked; more often than not they shared the silence. The closest thing to a "happy" family moment they could have. But typically, Serah just focuses on her schoolwork. The few happy memories that roll in were Serah trying to talk to her, or a rare dinner together.

He wanted to shake her.

She had too few happy memories. There was too much grief. Too much negativity. She was not happy and there was nothing he could do to change that. He couldn't touch her, couldn't reach her, couldn't talk to her, couldn't do anything.

Even the few dreams he was allowed to hold her in, or just sit across and talk to her on a coffee date; they felt acted, they felt numb.

Her ghost was becoming just an image to him.

He was starting to think that maybe he should just step off the dock, sink below the waves, disappear with her happier times filled in his head.

There was nothing he could do.

And it was hurting him.

He was happy when she was happy.

She wasn't happy.

He was starting to wonder if she ever will be.

And now Serah is making it all the harder. A man Claire couldn't stand was with her. And he brought up memories of the fool she calls father, foreseeing another pained future happening.

And just seeing her rage, fear, sorrow, and disgust made it all worse.

Memories burned his skin when he touched them. Seeing her ripped him up inside.

It was too much.

It was too much sometimes.

He was twisting in on himself, ruining himself because she wasn't happy, and there was nothing he could do and he just…

Would she ever be happy again?

Would it matter if she slid off the edge?

She wouldn't miss him.

She didn't even know of his existence.

He was just a cliché dream from her childhood, one of her ideal partners in her life. And even on the terms of her mind, he was a mistake, and technically, not an ideal partner.

But he still loved her; he still wished her happiness so hard and for so long…

He wished she would play the ukulele again.

He wished that she would build a sandcastle just for fun.

He wished that she indulged in her sweet tooth more, or listened to music more, just to see some more yellow orbs roll in. Just something more, just a little.

"You should go ahead and walk off the dock Number XIII," one mind worker voiced, frowning at him.

He was getting droopier every day.

"You wouldn't be missed."

"She's not happy," he mumbled back.

"She's not sad either," the worker returned.

She's tired, he reasoned.

He walked away from the worker before he could suggest the dock again.

.

.

.

* * *

He settled on the name Noctis.

That's what he told the rolling waves, wondering if Odin could hear him.

It was only at night when she slept was he at his closest to her, even if it was hollow. Only at night did he hold the shell of her, whispering soothing words and hope in her ear, hoping that she would hear and remember them the next morning, that she knew that _someone_ did care.

That someone wanted to see her happy.

Wanted her to be happy.

It was… maybe it was getting better?

"She's getting a promotion soon," he told the rolling waves. "She's looking forward to it."

But she still wasn't happy.

"Serah's getting married soon," he went on, "she rejected the idea. She may not go to the wedding. I'm scared she might not see Serah ever again."

Cold water licked at his hand when a wave hit the dock.

"I'm not leaving her," he decided. "I said I would stay. No matter what."

No matter how much it hurts.

He couldn't bring himself to leave her like everyone else was.

He's rather share the pain with her, even if she didn't know about him.

He wondered if she would hug him back and comfort him if she knew.

Serah came back.

After a year, her stomach a little bigger than if should be, tears staining her cheeks, with apologies bubbling past her lips. She was an absolute mess on Claire's doorstep.

And like he knew she would, she brought her back into the tightest hug.

The latest memory in her aquarium was blue and yellow.

Noctis hugged it tightly.

It was warm and pleasant to the touch.

.

.

.


End file.
